


Chicken and Rice for the Soul

by softbiker



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Nurse Rogers, Whining, death by cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softbiker/pseuds/softbiker
Summary: Steve Rogers plays nurse when his girl gets sick.





	Chicken and Rice for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for @barnesrogersvstheworld who is not feeling well - maybe it'll make you feel better too :)

“This is it, this is the end,” she groans, flopping an arm over her face.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Remember me as I was, Stevie.” With a sigh, she shuffles further into the pillows on her couch. A few used tissues fall into the floor as she moves around. “You can move on, but not too fast, okay? I mean, definitely pine over me for a couple of years first-” she breaks off into a fit of sneezes. Steve hands her the box of Kleenex next to the couch, grimaces sweetly as she empties her nose into one.

“So when exactly will it be appropriate for me to start dating again?” He raises a dark eyebrow at her and tries to keep from laughing as her face settles into a pout.

“On second thought, never. You’d better be mourning me until the day you die, Rogers. Otherwise I’ll haunt your ass.” Her words would be funnier if her voice weren’t congested and hoarse - she sounds so small, just pathetic enough to render her sass harmlessly amusing.

“Duly noted, sweetheart,” he smiles. 

She’s been laid up with a cold for two days now, though it was ramping up for a while - her sniffles and sneezes coming more frequently, with a fever following until Dr. Banner had finally put his foot down. With Steve for company and an expansive array of DVD’s, her recovery  _ should _ feel more like a vacation.  _ Could _ be more fun.  _ Would _ be an opportunity to make out with her very handsome boyfriend. But Captain Wet Blanket was taking her recovery  _ very seriously _ . So seriously that all her attempts to seduce him had failed, in spite of her complete irresistibility with snot running down her nose. Netflix and chill was cancelled until further notice. He barely even kissed her  _ at all _ , Mr. Can’t Get Sick wouldn’t  _ kiss _ her and wasn’t that just  _ mean _ , Steve? 

So she is now taking her own illness very seriously, taking every opportunity to inform Nurse Rogers that this may very well be the end, and maybe he should take his chance to tell her he loves her and a kiss would be nice before she dies. 

Steve nods - very sympathetic, excellent bedside manner - and pops in her favorite sick day movie, ‘The Princess Bride’. He’s watched it with her before, a few times, when she was taken off of missions for a broken rib or a fractured wrist. He likes the simplicity of the fairy tale, the nonsense of it, the sweetness of Westley and Buttercup’s love story. She stretches her feet across his lap as they watch, and he massages her ankles, hands working slightly up her calves. As always, his touch makes her melt, and he watches as she relaxes completely in her little blanket nest until she falls asleep.

They’re in the Pit of Despair when she wakes up.

“Oh no - whatimiss?” she hums, frowning. 

“You’ve seen this movie a couple hundred times, darlin.”

“I know, but tell me anyway.”

Steve sighs - world-weary, so put-upon - but he reaches for the remote and pauses the movie anyway, giving a full report of the first half of the film. More tissues come out of the box, and she reaches for her glass of water on the coffee table, throat tight and a little sore. 

“...and now Humperdink has Westley in the Pit of Despair, and he’s going to - well, I guess we’ll get to that part,” Steve finishes, patting her knee. “Do you need anymore water? Bathroom break?”

“Mmmm no, but I’m hungry.” She bats her eyes a little, poking out her bottom lip. 

“Hungry is good, probably means your fever is breaking.” Steve leans over, placing the back of his hand against her clammy forehead, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth.

“Yep, probably, so what are you gonna make me?” 

“You need to keep up your fluid intake, that’s what Bruce said.” He’s already getting up from the couch. “I’ll heat you up some of that soup, Bucky made yesterday-” Her nose wrinkles.

“No, not that, I had that for three meals in a row yesterday.”

“And you’re doing much better, so I think it’s safe to say the Romanian magic soup did it’s job.”

“Can’t we eat something else? I mean, aren’t you hungry too? Let’s have something we both like. More efficient.”

He sees right through her. Those All-American baby blues are like an x-ray machine, and their light passes all the way through meat and marrow, probably to the overstuffed couch underneath. Steve Rogers is practically a contortionist with the way he’s wrapped all 240 lbs of supersoldier around her little finger, and he feels himself bending, stretching, giving. Always gives her what she wants. 

Another sigh.

“What did you have in mind?”

30 minutes later, they’re swaddled in her blankets again, with a feast from that Japanese place laid out in front of them. Steve has already finished one plate of sushi, and has moved on to an assortment of California rolls, spicy tuna, and shrimp. He’s gotten quite good at using the chopsticks she got for him, not that he’s bragging about it. Nothing as rich as sushi for her - Patient Care Tech Rogers wouldn’t budge on that point - but she scoops steaming rice and chicken into her mouth with a happy little hum. 

“Isn’t this so much better than Bucky’s homeland soup?” Her smile is smug around those chipmunk cheeks, tired eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Mm. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, it’s not from Russia with love, so-”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” she nearly chokes on the rice. “I can’t believe you’re making puns in my time of need, get out of my house-”

He elbows her through the layers of blankets, and she’s laughing and moaning, rice threatening to spill. She sniffles and snuffs through her laugh, shuffling closer to him on the couch, in spite of his very bad jokes. 

Still won’t kiss her though.

  
  



End file.
